a mélange of moulages
by pluckedwings
Summary: Temari is many things: she is the prodigal daughter, the steadfast sister, and the unwavering teammate. And she is also sick. Sick, sick, sick. A rotting romance centered around one-half of a pair. Gaara/Temari with an emphasis on Temari.
1. nine years old, terrified

a mélange of moulages  
{ _and she was, she is, she will be - ?_ }

...

Temari, Gaara, Shuukaku, Kankurou, Baki, Yondaime Kazekage, Shikamaru  
Gaara/Temari, Sandcest, Shikamaru/Temari, Yashamaru/Karura, 4thKazekage/Karura, etc.

Watch out for violence, incest, consent issues, abuse, underage, sex. Oh, and language.

...

01.  
nine years old, terrified

...

She wakes with a start to the cries of a child and clenched fists - a dead weight - about her chest. She opens her eyes in the twilight hours of her ninth birthday to see a blood-splattered little boy desperately shaking her shoulders.

Yashamaru, he sobs.

Yashamaru, you came back, he cries.

Gaara, she mouthes, understanding coming before realization. The stench of death hangs about him, has always hung about him. He is a sibling, another little brother, her father's favorite and the savior of the village. He is also a stranger.

You take after your mother, one of the attendants had told her.

Not Yashamaru, she whispered, propping herself up on her elbows and holding him.

Mother's brother is dead, and her thoughts accidentally became speech.

This demon who killed her mother and stole her father - he _howls_ and the desert listens to his rage.

What -, she manages to get out as a tireless deluge sand floods through from every inch of her room, embracing, smothering, suffocating. She screams, and he screams, and there's the dash of footsteps, the slamming open of doors. The posted guards rush to untangle them, to help her, to stop him, and specks of white blot her already-darkened vision. She can make out the voices of her father, her brother, but there's no helping her now.

If she can survive the night, she will be ten years old.

Mother, she gasps, forgetting to remember.

And just like that, the sand retracts.

Temari falls onto the bloodied sheets, into the arms of a panic-ridden attendant, and her father and brother come running. She's shaking, gasping, breaking out in a cold sweat, and she takes one look at Gaara and screams murder.

I want my mother back. Give me my mother back. I want my mother instead of you.

She lunges at him, uselessly, of course, and beats her fist into one wall of sand after another, until her father catches her wrist and pulls her into an uncharacteristic embrace.

Temari, Temari, Temari, Kankurou calls, chides, pleads. Though he's too young to remember Mother, he's old enough to fear Gaara.

Temari, don't; Temari stop; Temari please.

I hate you, I hate you, _I hate you_, she shrieks, arms and legs flailing, eyes and fingers clenched. The Kazekage pulls her close and she manages to cuff Kankurou's ear, but her words reach the intended recipient.

The monster laughs, harsh and ragged, throwing his head back and letting the sand encompass his being.

It was just a dream, her father tells her the second she's calmed down. He takes her face in both his hands and looks her in the eye. Temari, he says, you just had a nightmare.

But, but, but, she tries.

Look around your room, he insists, and she does. Her eyes settle on the clean bedsheets, the closed windows and empty room. Finally, she relaxes, nodding firmly.

I wasn't scared at all!, she says - a bald-faced lie.

That's my daughter, her father preens, ruffling her hair and helping her back into bed. She sniffs: I'll be ten years old tomorrow so I can tuck myself in, she haughtily informs him and he chuckles and closes the door.

The servants scuttle about, used to rearranging this, cleaning that, burning this, and his youngest child rematerializes before him halfway down the corridor.

Gaara, he acknowledges, keeping himself from scowling at the boy's crazed grin. And to think he was seven years old already.

"That was my older sister."

"It was."

"She's funny." Another bark of a laugh. "I'm going to kill her."

It is only practice that keeps the Fourth from reacting. Gaara is testing him, he knows.

"She takes after your mother," his father says.

Gaara freezes then, all lost and lonely seven-year-old boy, and he knows he's lost. He can't admit it though.

"It doesn't matter," he presses, grinning widely and tracing his signature tattoo. "I can kill Mother any number of times."

"After all, she always comes back to me."

...


	2. ten years old, overconfident

...

02.  
ten years old, overconfident

...

"Hah-_hah_!" Temari whoops, completing the flip without breaking a sweat. She does a little twirl, cocking her head and closing her fan, and the spectators clap politely. The judges too, though their faces are shrouded, have doubtlessly been impressed. Wind users are a treasure in Wind Country and because she is the daughter of the Kazekage, the normal rules don't apply.

She steps off the stage, casting a wary glance at the empty seat of honor. So her father had been too busy to watch her examination; no matter.

"That was _awesome_!" her brother exclaims, bounding up to her and grappling about the fan.

"Of course it was," she preens, flicking his nose. He scowls; she laughs; and they both erupt into giggles.

"Didja see their faces?"

"Old Man Yuuta practically choked on his napkin!"

"Really?"

"You were easily the best!"

"Now you're just exaggerating," Temari scoffs, grinning cheek-to-cheek. "Hey, speaking of which, how're your puppets going? You'll be up here next year, after all!"

"Two years."

"Year and a half."

"Fine." He hands her back the fan and crosses his arms, falling into step as they make their way back to the Kazekage's palace. Temari tilts her head, catching sight of her brother frowning at the ground.

"What's the matter?" she asks, all no-nonsense older sister, "Is someone making fun of you for using puppets again?"

"No!" he scowls again, sniffing: "And you didn't hafta talk to Father about that. I could've handled them by myself."

"Kankurou, they were burning your weapons."

"Baki says I'm supposed to be close-range... close-range..." he pauses, stumbling over the new vocabulary, "Well, you know."

"Close-range combat?"

"Yeah! That one!"

"Wait, what does that have to do with anything?"

"It means you shouldn't interfere!" Kankurou pouts, stomping onwards. "'Sides, Father said I was s'pposed to watch your back."

"Really?" Temari demands, eyes lighting up, "He said that?"

Her brother's silence is answer enough.

She laughs, ruffling his hair and skipping ahead, steps suddenly lighter.

"Hey! Temari! Wait _up_!"

"Hurry up then!" she calls, smile brilliant, "You're gonna have to be a lot faster if you want to be a genin too!"

And like that, the two of them gallivant past the shuffling stilted streets of Suna, bustling and bumbling their way into the central administrative building: home. There are more servants running about than usual, Temari immediately notices. And then the servants notice them.

"There you are!" one of the maids exclaim, grabbing her wrist. "Temari-sama, Kankurou-sama, we've been waiting for you!"

"What?" both siblings simultaneously splutter.

"Did you forget? There's a party tonight!"

Temari manages a self-assured smile and wave in Kankurou's direction before the servants drag them into adjoining dressing rooms. She feels her stomach sink as someone hands her a beatifically-embroidered silk dress; so _this_ was the reason why the Kazekage hadn't bothered attending her genin examination. State events are all the same. She knows better than to complain.

"There," the attendant says, lips weakly curved.

Another slight turn to catch her own reflection. Even terrified, the servants know just what to do.

"Thank you," Temari murmurs, dipping her head minutely. This woman has a husband, has children, has a home. "You may retire early for the evening."

"Oh thank you, thank you so much Temari-sama," she breathlessly blesses, kissing the hem of her robe. Temari feels the same sickening clench, a bout of unwarranted envy. The servants have families and yes, their families are no doubt dysfunctional in their own right.

She doubts any of them are terrified of their own baby brothers.

"The collar's too tight," Kankurou whines, pulling at the knot of his tie.

"It's a formal event." They all are.

"I can't breath."

He doesn't put much effort into his pleading face and he doesn't need to. She rolls her eyes, sighing, before kneeling down and undoing the tie.

"You should really learn to - " she begins, only to have the door creak open and Kankurou's hand to gravitate to her wrist, holding on for dear life.

Instinctively, she looks into his eyes. Not that it's necessary of course; not even their father in the worst of his moods can cause Kankurou to get like this. No, there is only one person who can elicit this kind of reaction from her brother. She takes a deep breath, gingerly prying Kankurou's fingers from her wrist. The problem is, he refuses to move.

"Kankurou." The sooner she redoes his tie, the sooner they can leave.

"Temari," his voice quakes.

"Oh, for the love of - " she yanks her wrist out of his hand, deftly looping silk through silk while making keeping the knot relatively loose. Pulling firmly, she stands up, smacking the backside of his head. "Gaara," she coolly greets, wondering if it would be appropriate to ask a favor from the birthday boy. A quick and painless death, that is.

"Wh-what are you doing here?" Kankurou squeaks, digging his fingers into her arm.

Their younger brother blinks, before his lips twist into his trademark smile.

"I don't need to explain myself to the likes of you."

And of course all the servants that had been in every corner would take his presence as a cue to excuse themselves.

Kankurou's grip tightens. Temari's right eye twitches. Gaara continues standing.

"Happy birthday," Temari says; the most of a peace-offering she's willing to give. And then she drags Kankurou through the door.

"Wait."

She turns a blind ear at the sound. Spitefully.

Wrong move; stupid move. The sand blasts both of them up and out, trapping Kankurou against the wall and leaving Temari sprawled out on the floor. She reaches for a weapon that she realizes belatedly _is not there_ as Kankurou screams and struggles.

"Temari! Temari! _Temari_!"

The pitch of hysteria in his voice hits a nerve.

"Don't worry," she barks, cold and clean-cut. He freezes obediently and she turns around, only to discover that it wasn't her words he'd been obeying.

Gaara advances towards the two of them. Her stomach refuses to rise and she sees his bored expression and thinks: 'this is it, this is how I will die'.

"It's too tight," he says - to her - and she does a double-take.

"You pinned your brother to the wall over a tie?!"

"It's too tight." He pauses. "And you tried to run away."

"Run away?" she echoes. She shakes her head. "Let Kankurou down first."

He frowns, reaches up, and clenches his fist. Kankurou shrieks.

"Tie it or I'll kill you," he says, reminding her who, exactly, she's talking to.

The monster of their village. Her mother's murderer. Her demonic little brother.

Her father's _favorite_.

Temari's hands shake and her vision swims as she works to undo and redo the tie (and it was quite tight, she's forced to admit). She finishes and stands up. Gaara tugs at it and, evidently satisfied with her handiwork, gives a little tilt of his head. As if on command, the sand rushes back, dropping Kankurou to the floor. He's hacking and coughing and shaking, but he's alive nonetheless.

She runs to him, ignoring Gaara altogether.

"He's crazy," Kankurou gasps, desperately clawing his way into a standing position.

"Shhh," she hushes, glancing from left to right, "Who knows who's listening!"

"Who cares who's listening!" Kankurou cries, "We're going to die here! Tonight, or maybe tomorrow, or maybe next week! We'll be killed!"

He sobs into her shoulder and she lets him.

"Don't worry," she lies, holding him close. "I won't let you die. Father won't let us die."

Kankurou chokes on a laugh.

Gaara's eighth birthday party passes without further incident, though neither of his siblings are present for the actual event. The Kazekage notices but knows better than to comment, slipping yet another packet of poison into his favorite's drink instead.

...


	3. ten years old, discomfited

...

03.  
ten years old, discomfited

...

The Fourth Kazekage was lenient towards his children, whatever love he happened to be lacking.

If his daughter wanted to be a kunoichi, unspoken social mores and village traditions be damned, he would give her the chance to be a kunoichi. If his older son wanted to master the art of puppetry, batty old ladies and S-class missing nins be damned, he would arrange puppetry classes for the boy. And if his youngest wanted the chance to go out, righteous terror and inevitable bloodshed be damned, the boy would have his day in the sun.

Besides, he still felt a small amount of remorse. Though it wasn't by choice, his family was in tatters: his wife and brother-in-law both dead, his children estranged, his youngest son possessed by a demon and so on and so forth.

I want, Gaara only need start.

A stuffed animal, a new teacher, another stuffed animal, a sand-filled gourd, yet another stuffed animal, different servants, a new teacher, and another stuffed animal.

Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, and yes.

If you want, then you shall have, the Fourth Kazekage promises, words laced with a poison not entirely figurative.

...

"Kazekage-sama has been giving Gaara more leeway these days," Baki starts, sitting cross-legged in the midnight sun. With effort, Temari refrains from licking her lips. Instead, she counts the seconds. It had been an honor, to be trained by _the_ Baki, the best wind fighter in Wind Country. Her father had asked for him, of course.

In the pregnant lapse of conversation, she realizes he expects an answer.

"I didn't know that." Carefully, carefully. She has no idea whose side he's on, what angle he's playing at.

"Kazekage-sama has instructed that you keep away from the outer rooms after sundown."

"I understand."

"Kazekage-sama has also instructed that you keep your brother away from those rooms as well."

"I understand."

He stops for a moment, observing her expression. It is neutral, contemplative, and yet, he can still see Karura's warmth in her eyes. She returns the gaze and he wonders what his student sees. An aged veteran of the desert. A faithful servant of her father. A stern and studious teacher. Whatever it is, he doubts she would see a lonely man approaching the cusp of midlife, caught between two equally ill-fated factions in an even more pointless conflict.

It doesn't matter. To the Kazekage, he is a pawn, not a friend.

And likewise, she is a tool, not a daughter.

"Baki-sensei," she addresses, after the fifth minute has passed. "What should I do... what is the ideal course of action for when Gaara is about to attack?" He's one of the best jounins in the village and to her ten-year-old mind, he should be able to -

"Run if you can," is the dull reply. Her ears ring with disbelief.

_If you can_.

"But - "

"There is not a single person in the village that can defeat Shuukaku," her teacher calmly explains. He quirks his lips in a cold smile. "He is the trump card of Suna, after all."

"I see." She hears the pitter-patter of sand being blown by the winds. She hears a nail being driven into her coffin. She hears the choked gurgle of blood. And she shakes at the thought. I don't want to die. _I don't want to die_, she feverishly realizes.

"Come," her teacher says, standing up at long last. He does not offer her a helping hand, sprinting ahead without warning. Suna is rough and ragged and her children eat each other alive. Mutely, she rises to her feet, strapping on the fan and following suit. Within seconds, the winds clear the landscape of their presence.

...

"I'm bored," Kankurou mutters, playing yet another round of one-man cat's cradle.

"Why'd you come here again?" Temari asks, reaching for the strop. Typical Kankurou: barging in in the middle of the night to play with dolls.

"Don't you get tired of sharpening that?" he asks, changing the subject.

"Not really." Baki's recommended she get a larger fan. She'll have to ask Father about that, the next time she's granted an audience with him. "Do you get tired of untangling the strings of your puppets?"

"No way!"

"Same thing then."

"Oh."

She finishes the first fold soon enough, moving onto the second. A flash of light from the windows catches her attention and she turns to Kankurou, frowning.

"You're not still scared of lightning, are you?"

"Wh-what? No way!" he waves his arms, vehemently shaking his head. "I just... I just couldn't sleep, that's all!"

"Oh really."

"Yes really."

She considers goading him outside - he's nine years old and they need to grow up soon - but remembers Baki's message in time. It's laughable, how easily they dance on the strings of certain death. She hopes to never get used to it. Kankurou continues with the next another iteration and she moves onto the third fold. Outside, the thunder rolls in the midst of the rainless storm and she bites the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing at her brother's tell-tale shiver.

"Hey Kankurou," she recalls, tone serious.

"Yeah?"

"You didn't tell anyone about the birthday party, right?"

"No."

"Good."

He fiddles with the string for a couple more seconds before snapping it and throwing his hands up in the air. "No one would listen anyways," he grumbles, yawning. She hears resignation. She hears exhaustion. "Father wouldn't care and the servants would just run away and, and, and - "

_I don't want to die_, she hears.

"C'mere," she gestures, setting aside both fan and strop. For once, he obeys without complaint. Slowly, she wraps her arms about him, pressing her face into freshly-washed hair.

"What're you - "

"Shut up," she sighs, squeezing harder. "Mother used to do this to me, whenever I was scared of thunder."

"..._You_ were scared of thunder?"

"Hey! I'm scared of things too!"

_I'm scared of the same things as you, actually_.

"How was she like?" he quietly asks. She doubts 'I don't remember much either' is the appropriate answer. So she closes her eyes and, in lieu of memories, strives for a realistic fantasy.

"Mother was warm. And she had a quiet laugh. And she liked to hold us close."

Kankurou makes a soft noise. She runs her fingers through his hair.

"She liked to garden. She liked to watch the clouds and arrange flowers and - "

There's a loud rumble of thunder.

"And?"

"And she liked children." She bites her bottom lip.

"She loved us."

Temari loosens the embrace, letting Kankurou roll to the side. She rearranges the sheets, shading her brother's eyes with a pillow and pushing her fan off the edge of the bed before padding over to turn off the lights.

There's a flash of lightning that illuminates the room for a brilliant second and in the corner of her vision she thinks she sees -

Her reflexes kick in instantaneously. She vaults over him and grabs the fan, only to find its opening mechanism jammed.

Gaara appears in front of her before she can even scream and though she cannot see him, his scent - the stench of carnage - is impossible to ignore. She senses him raising a hand and she stumbles backward in muted terror, knees collapsing atop the bed. Her precious fan falls to the floor, forgotten, and she prays Kankurou will not wake up, will not alert Gaara to his presence, will not -

Though she bites down on her tongue to keep from shrieking, a muffled squeak still manages to escape.

Of all the deaths she'd been prepared for, she was not prepared for a heart attack by nature of him tumbling onto her.

The beat of silence is broken by another roll of thunder.

"G-Gaara?" she whispers, all while scrabbling for the kunai she _knows_ is underneath her pillow.

"He's talking to me..." the boy mutters, pressing his forehead against her shoulder.

Shuukaku. Her heart sinks.

"What... what is he saying?"

He shudders then, looping his small short arms around her neck. He squirms and shakes and she realizes he didn't have his gourd (and if so, then where was the sand coming from?) and he breaths right up against her ear.

"Make it stop or I'll kill you too."

"Gaara, you know I - "

"Make it stop, make it _stop_," he hisses, loosening his hold to cradle his own head.

She's sweating. It's the dead of the night and she's shaking like a leaf.

_I don't want to die, I don't want to die, I don't want to die_, she chants again and again.

Awkwardly, she tries to rock him. Back and forth, back and forth.

The second true silence settles in the room, he gives an anguished howl, pushing her back and clutching his forehead. He stumbles, flailing wildly, and she hears the sickening crunch of sand against brick before her bedroom door is wrenched off its hinges.

"Wh-what?" Kankurou exclaims, sitting upright.

Temari grabs his shoulders, forcing both of them under the covers.

"Temari, what - "

"Go to sleep!" she begs, raising a useless hand over his eyes and saying the words someone said to her, when she was younger. "Go to sleep. Tomorrow, when you wake up, it'll all be better."

If you wake up.

...


	4. ten years old, exultant

...

04.  
ten years old, exultant

...

When Kankurou leaves Suna for a couple months - the first extended trip of his life - Temari is ecstatic. Finally, her training sessions will continue without interruption. The first week is filled with rapid progress: leaps, bounds, and spins, to the point where even her father congratulates her. Well, not in person of course (it seems the only child he's ever had time for is Gaara), but in the form of a congratulatory fruit basket.

It's filled to the brim with delicacies from the Hidden Village of Leaf: oranges and bananas and strawberries and the like, and her heart thuds with joy at the sight.

Love is love is love but she is a kunoichi through and though; she still asks for the maid to take the first bite and then waits a whole day before confirming the lack of poison.

The real problem, of course, was that there was nothing she could do, if the (thankfully benevolent) basket _had_ been poisoned. Yes, she would live to see another day - which seemed to be more than enough some days - but she would have no one to blame. Or rather, everyone to blame. It could have been the perpetually-suspicious Leaf-nin, looking to strike first. It could have been a political enemy of her father's, looking to poison him. It could have been her father, looking to poison her little brother by proxy.

It is a regrettable fact, but she knows she herself could very well have been the target.

In that sense, Kankurou understands her. He understands her and she misses him. They are the Kazekage's two disposable children.

Baki snaps his wrist and sends her flying, breaking her train of thought. His lips curl at her childish pride; she isn't given a chance to defend much less dodge. The combination of gust and dist is unforgiving but Temari manages to find some semblance of footing regardless, using her new fan - twice as large and three times as heavy! - as a windbreaker and returning the current twicefold.

"Pay attention," Baki says, direct as ever.

"I am!" she shouts back, hiding embarrassment with indignation.

In the corner of her eye - but then, he is perpetually at the edge of her vision - she sees it for the first time. The Third Eye, another one of Shuukaku's techniques. It stares at the training scene without blinking and she ends up gargling sand in the inevitable diversion.

"Stand up," Baki commands.

She rises without complaint, swiping her lips with the back of her hand and tightly gripping her fan.

"There's something to be said for temerity," her teacher murmurs, leaping into the misleadingly dead air. She rolls to the side in the nick of time, desperately diving upwards with the fan.

The weapon seems to take a life of its own, flitting through the air and she shrieks in surprise. Nothing coherent comes through though as - as there is no one to call.

And for one, she doesn't care.

"Didja see that? Did you, did you?!" she screams the second the fan touches ground.

"Yes, I did," Baki replies, clapping softly: once, twice, thrice. Temari beams, closing her fan and throwing it in the air. It wasn't a legitimate flight, but for a few brief seconds, she had been suspended in the air, above the sand, above the buildings - above the _city_, even.

"Your technique needs work."

"I know," she says, still unable to keep the smile from her face.

Temari is ten years old, verging on eleven, and she finally sees potential in herself. Between the fan and the puppets, she and Kankurou can - no, she and Kankurou will be able to -

"Very well," Baki mutters, clapping his hands and motioning towards the village. "That's enough for today. We'll start again at dawn."

"Yes!"

She follows her teacher with a skip in her step.

Forgotten for the moment, Gaara's Third Eye floats for a few minutes more before scattering to the winds.

Sitting in his room in the Kazekage's palace, the youngest son smiles and for once, Shuukaku agrees.

...


	5. ten years old, hopeful

...

05.  
ten years old, hopeful

...

In the two months that Kankurou spends away, Temari immerses herself in training.

Sometimes Baki compliments her. Most of the time, his attacks cut at her. Scrapes and bruises and flowering welts, these are the results of her efforts. She wears them proudly and is proud to have a teacher like him. Baki, for his part, does not apologize - daughter of the Kazekage or no, she is still his student and he is determined to train her well.

One night, her father was home and there were no political dinners for the evening. They had a simple meal then, just the two of them. There had been nothing to talk about, and she hadn't tried. Still, he had congratulated her on learning how to fly on her fan and she had failed to hide her smile in the curve of her cup.

She forgets to ask when Kankurou will return.

...

That night, Gaara had paid a visit to her, manifesting at the edge of her balcony.

She sits up, rising to attention, but keeps from grabbing the fan.

_Run if you can_, she remembers.

He approaches her and she strives to keep the fear at bay.

"Do you remember Mother?"

She does a double-take, brows furrowing.

"I... I don't remember much either."

His brow furrows too and she shirks back, already feeling the warm swell of death. He reaches out to her then, stopping short of actually touching, and he closes his fingers in a loose fist. Temari remembers their initial rendezvous, remembers who he had mistaken her for then. Perhaps he really does see Yashamaru in her, she muses.

"Is he" she begins, trying to break the silence, "sleeping right now?"

He pulls back his hand and says nothing.

In a fit of self-deprecating hysteria, she wonders if it would be rude for her to fall asleep right now.

Gaara continues to keep his silence. Perhaps he hadn't heard her questions then. She chances a glance in his direction and finds him staring heatedly at her fan. In a pointless gesture, she rearranges the bedsheets, piling them around her. Gaara continues to watch.

Kankurou can't come back soon enough, she realizes, fluffing pillows and wrinkling sheets. Without him, there's no one else to really _talk_ to - between the servants and Baki and, heaven forbid, her father and Gaara - it's no surprise that Kankurou manages to win the award for best conversationist.

"No," Gaara says, slowly shaking his head. "He never sleeps."

"Oh." It had been a stupid question, in retrospect. No wonder his eyes were perpetually rimmed with such heavy shadows.

Without warning, he falls on top of her. She freezes, breath trapped somewhere between her stomach and lungs, and cannot do anything when a hand reaches up to her chest, pushing her back, back, back.

"Talk to me," he demands, an inexplicable quiver ringing through the final syllable.

_What do you think I was trying to do?_

"Does he?" she wonders, vision blurring. So this is it, she thinks, as she has thought. "Talk to you, I mean."

"Always."

Of course.

"Even right now?"

"Always."

She closes her eyes, forcing steady breaths while doing her best to ignore the weight over her midsection. She knows next-to-nothing of Gaara and would have been more than happy to keep it that way. _Talk to me_, he had commanded of her - but what for? There's nothing she knows that Baki wouldn't know too and she cannot imagine _Gaara_ thirsting for conversation.

"What is he saying?" _Why did you say that?_, her conscience shrieks, _you don't want to know the answer to that._

"Kill everyone. Kill everyone and you'll be happy," Gaara tonelessly recites. If he were any other child, she would have laughed and told him to not say such silly things. Well, actually, if he were any other child, the guards would've never let him into her room.

"So you don't believe him?"

"No."

Well, that was a relief.

"He told me killing Yashamaru would bring back Mother."

"Oh."

This is a boy who has never felt pain in his life, she knows. She has a field of welts and scars and she's _proud_ of them. But Gaara does not know pain, does not know _death_. He is a pitiable creature, this brother of hers. Pitiable, but she has always been lacking in empathy.

"Now he's saying if I kill you, he'll keep quiet for the night."

_Breath in, breath out._

He sits up and she keeps her eyes closed. She refuses to open them, even when she felt two small hands wrap about her neck, squeezing gently.

_Breath in, breath out_.

"It won't hurt," he whispers, voice tickling the shell of her ear.

_This is it. This is how I'm going to die._

And then her conscience explodes.

"I don't want to die!" she screams, kicking him solidly off the bed. He lands on the floor with a satisfying thud but she's not satisfied, no far from it.

"Keeping quiet for one night?!" she bellows, getting to her feet, "Do you really think he'd keep his promise?! You just told me you didn't trust him, what are you - " the weight of her actions catches up prematurely and she scrambles down, hands moving from her hips to her face.

Gaara lays motionless on the floor and, for a moment, she stupidly thinks she may have killed him.

And then he sits up, rubbing his stomach and glaring balefully at her.

"You hurt me," he says, tearing up.

Temari falls back, stunned, as he runs off, crying all the while.

"That," she starts, tossing a pillow to turn off the lights, "didn't just happen."

...

Kankurou makes a triumphant return the next afternoon, bundled in cloth and laden down with trinkets.

Temari tackles him to the ground in a hug, and she punches him squarely in the shoulder after discovering he had switched places with his latest puppet.

After a dinner that is filled with conversation for the first time in months, he drags her up to his room and begins talking about the new techniques, the new people, the new types of puppetry. It's still a vast world, he concludes, eyes sparkling with mirth. He shows off his newest attacks, maneuvering three small puppets up the wall and into her hair. She tosses them off and tosses her hair and he laughs and she laughs and everything will be alright, she thinks.

Still, she can't forget her own exhilaration.

"Whatcha thinking of?" he asks when her divergent attention becomes obvious.

"Let me get my fan, I have something to show you too," she replies, dashing to her room and back. She sprints to Kankurou's balcony and fully opens her fan, blowing three times before letting go and jumping on.

"Wait, Temari - " her little brother tries.

"Temari!" he shouts, scrambling over to the balcony.

"Made ya'look!" she cackles, soaring up, out, and over. She rides atop the fan for a couple seconds longer before returning to the balcony, gleefully basking in the unadulterated admiration.

"How long can you do that for?!" he instantly demands.

"Eh, a couple minutes at best," she admits, scratching her head. "But I'll get better, don't worry!"

"And then..." he continues.

She looks at him, and realizes they've been thinking the same thing. And then she smiles, nodding firmly.

"Yeah."

...


	6. eleven years old, unaware

...

06.  
eleven years old, unaware

...

Her eleventh birthday party - and indeed, her eleventh year altogether - passes by in a blur. There are important guests whose hands she needs to shake and there are unimportant guests whose children Kankurou tries to play with. It's useless; they're the children of the Kazekage after all and everyone else seems to recoil in fear.

Baki starts taking extended missions too, personally requested by the Kazekage. She doesn't know what they entail, just that he leaves for weeks at a time and returns without so much as a scratch. Sometimes, she likes to imagine his sharpening his skills for the day he'll inevitably be asked to off Gaara. Kankurou laughs in her face when she answers truthfully once, to the question of 'whatcha thinking 'bout?' and she doesn't mention such dreams a second time.

Her father, too, seems to make himself scarce. First, he's away for a friendly meeting with the newly-formed Hidden Village of Sound, then he's stuck in month-long negotiations with the other members of the council. Either way, he paces about the palace sometimes and she knows to keep away when he's up and about.

Not, thankfully, out of any fear for the man himself, but rather, because of Gaara. Her youngest brother has taken to appearing behind the Kazekage at the most inopportune of times, all quiet chuckles and open leers - he's pushing for a reaction, Temari knows.

Sometimes, Kankurou will take notice of Gaara's presence. This is only because Gaara wants Kankurou to notice him though (and, looking back, Temari doesn't recall a time where she noticed Gaara without him purposely drawing attention to himself) and not, on the contrary, because of any increase in ninjutsu, as Kankurou is quick to argue. Nonetheless, her brother is making quick strides; he managed to apparate a single chakra string before his tenth birthday.

When Baki is away and her father has no need of her and Kankurou is busy toying with his puppets (these occurrences are more frequent than her pride will allow her to admit), she will sit in her room with a piece of charcoal and a scrap of parchment and sketch out their escape plans.

Their 'grand escape', she's taken to calling the whole thing.

...

"As soon as is necessary," Kankurou hears at the edge of the door.

It's been so long since he'd heard his father's voice; he almost doesn't recognize the man.

Closing his eyes, he strains his ears, pressing up against the woodwork and praying the servants were preoccupied with Gaara's latest mess. Or not becoming Gaara's latest mess. Either one.

"And when does Kazekage-sama see this as being necessary?" a different - and distinctly deferential - voice asks.

"She's not yet twelve," is the crisp reply. "You know as well as me that the primary purpose of such a union would be to beget children."

"Correct me if I'm mistaken," a third voice cuts in, "But I was under the impression such a union would be a show of good faith. A sign of solidarity between the two villages, if you will."

"There is nothing that we stand to - "

"Oh, _now_ you're questioning your leader's decision?"

"I've never - "

"Now listen here - "

"The girl is far too young anyways!"

The voices rise to a clamor as speakers four, five, six, seven - possibly more? - join in. Already having difficulty making sense of the conversation, Kankurou is practically swimming in unintentional half-statements.

All the speakers are abruptly cut off and he finds out why moments later when a kunai shoots cleanly through the door, nicking his ear.

He bites down on his bottom lip, dropping down and scrambling to switch places with Karasu.

Too little too late at this point; the door opens fully and a nin from the Hidden Village of Sound peers out at him.

"It's not very nice to eavesdrop on your father," the glasses-wearing ninja says, grinning all the while.

Kankurou sprints out of the hallway, dashing into the closest 'safe' room.

"Kankurou?" Temari asks, looking up from her scribbles on parchment. She gets up and walks over, double-checking his figure for cuts and bruises. "What's the matter? Why were you running? Who gave you that cut on your ear?"

_Not yet twelve_.

Out of all the phrases to have ringing in his ears.

"S'nothing," he gets out, rising to stand on his feet. He catches his breath (tries to throttle it too) and properly shoulders Karasu, ignoring the clench of fingers over fan.

"Nothing? Half your left face is covered in blood!"

"I just ran into one of the walls," he lamely lies.

Once, Temari had beat up a councilman's son because he had called Karasu bad names. She hadn't told him what names the child had called Kankurou, but he can guess at most of them.

"Kankurou..." she growls, just about ready to beat the answers out of _him_.

"Geez, I was just training okay!" he irritably replies, moving to exit the room. "I already told you: I'm supposed to be the one good at close-range combat, so you shouldn't have to cover for me at all!" And then he stalks out of the room with Karasu in-tow.

"Brat," Temari mutters, going back to her sketches of escape. Of course, everyone knew that the ears bled excessively. He seemed alright and since he _was_ growing up...

She shrugs, flicking the charcoal between fingers and coating her hands in black.

...

This is stupid.

This is stupid and ridiculous.

No wait, this is stupid and ridiculous and suicidal.

_Not yet twelve_, he hears his father say.

_The primary purpose of the union is to beget children_, he hears the glasses-wearing nin say.

It makes his skin crawl, really. To hear of his older sister - one of the youngest graduates of the academy, the prodigal child of the family - talked of in such terms. And of course his father would be at the head of the operation; it wasn't as if there was a universal maximum for amount of fucked-up in a single family.

The idea of having children in two years - of _Temari_ having children in two years - he shakes his head violently to clear away such thoughts and, in the process, walks in on the scene of carnage.

He has witnessed Gaara in his episodes, multiple times. But always with Temari.

You're going to be a ninja, he screams internally, choking down on the bile. There's a bone sticking out from... from what's evidently a mound of flesh and oh god oh god oh _god_ he thinks he sees himself in that bloodied fracture of a face.

Gaara's skin is glistening with perspiration with little droplets of blood clinging here and there.

There is a wildly crazed look in his eyes as he sniffs the air, taking notice of Kankurou.

His smile widens and he approaches his older brother.

Kankurou remains rooted to the spot.

"What do you want?" Gaara asks without intonation.

With difficulty veering on incompetence, Kankurou tries to find the right words.

"They... they want to... they're..."

Gaara stares patiently. For about three seconds.

"Tell me or I'll kill you," he says.

"I want you to stop our father from marrying our sister off."

For the first time, Gaara shows an emotion Kankurou can relate to. He sees a flicker of genuine surprise though it is immediately squashed. Shuukaku's doing, no doubt.

Gaara closes his eyes then and Kankurou panics. The slow smile that spreads across his face - while his eyes are _still closed_! - doesn't assuage much. His brow furrows (and this is while smiling) and his lips press together tightly and Kankurou stops observing then, finding it much more comfortable to cower in the corner.

He's talking to Shuukaku, the older brother realizes belatedly.

Like a hovering parent, the sand wipes away at the bloodstains, greedily mopping up all traces of murder on Gaara's immediate vicinity. It finishes with a condescending pat on the head. Gaara's eyes open then and he focuses immediately on Kankurou.

"A favor for a favor," he says, stepping forward.

Kankurou flinches.

"What?"

"A favor for a favor," Gaara repeats, rasping slightly (and smiling wickedly). "I will ask something of you and you will do it."

_How is that any different from usual_, Kankurou is tempted to ask. He shuts his mouth and nods vehemently instead.

"Good."

Gaara leaves and Kankurou takes the opportunity to vomit.

...

"What?!" Temari shrieks, throwing the scroll to the floor.

"Temari-sama," the handservant pleads, "Be reasonable..."

"Be reasonable?! You... you... how am I supposed to be _reasonable_ when my _father_ has requested I be put on a team with _him_?!" She makes a strangled noise and a strangling motion left eye twitching violently.

"You should be honored," Baki dictates, opening the door without warning. "It means the Kazekage believes you to be capable enough to handle any situations. Should they arise."

"Bullshit," Temari snorts, tossing her head and pouting crossly at the instructor. The handservant flushes, about to reprimand the girl for her language, but she is dismissed with a careless wave.

I don't want to die. I don't want to die. _I don't want to die._

"Kankurou will be a part of your team too," Baki points out.

"Great. Now I _know_ we weren't chosen for any belief in our ability to stay alive." She casts a sidelong glance his way, quirking her lips weakly upwards. "And what about you, Baki-sensei? What'll you do then? More outside missions?"

"Perhaps." He refrains from explaining he had volunteered to be the official instructor of their three-man team.

"I see," Temari replies, lips pressed in a hard line. She's not yet twelve, Baki knows, and already there are lines under her eyes. The desert is cruel to her children - indeed. And still, Temari dreams of the sweet taste of escape.

...


End file.
